I Am Me, I Will Be Cold
by ScarlettLynn
Summary: Draco Malfoy has switched sides in the war, and is now staying under the protection of the Order at Grimmauld Place. Harry is opposed to the idea, but the animosity between the two slowly fades and is replaced by a begrudging friendship. Yes, I know it's been used before, but this is my spin on it. This WILL be a slash fic, but this is also my first fic. Ever.
1. Chapter 1

_Harry_

You're absolutely infuriated! Never in a million years did you think DRACO MALFOY would be living in your house, under the protection of the Order. You're extremely against the idea, of course, which is why you're throwing this little temper tantrum. Apparently, he's provided them with valuable information, and wants to switch sides, but you don't believe it. Little rat fuck probably just wants to spy for Voldemort, either that or he's just begging Dumbledore to keep him safe from his scary ass father.

You stomp your way through the house, ranting and raving about things that are out of your control. It might be your house, but it's the Orders headquarters, and you can't very well refuse to house a witness. You just need to vent, is all. You know you're being childish, but at the moment you're too angry to care. Making your way to Sirius's old study room, you wrench the door open, slam it closed behind you, and throw yourself face down into a pillow on the green couch that occupies the center of the room. Your breathing is ragged, you're so angry. You know you need to calm yourself down, that it's not worth getting yourself so worked up over. Malfoy will be gone soon enough; it's not like he'll be staying here permanently. It's time you set aside your harsh feelings towards Malfoy, but it's just something about him that never fails to piss you off. You lay there on the couch, silently grumbling to yourself in your head for a good thirty minutes, until eventually your anger subsides and the soothing, calm abyss of sleep overtakes you.

Eventually, you awaken, feeling surprisingly calm. It's quiet and dark throughout the house; everyone is probably asleep. The wall lamps behind you cast a soft glow, causing shadows to jump and flicker over the room. You turn over, still sprawled out on the couch, lazily watching this light display. Restlessness overtakes you, and you haul yourself off the couch, looking towards the wall clock. It reads 12:46. Shit, that means you'll probably be up the rest of the night.

You rub your eyes, quietly making your way to the door, careful not to bump into anything, because you don't want to wake anyone. You're used to walking around the house at night, when you have trouble sleeping. This is a normal occurrence for you, with your nightmares and all, but you're used to it by now. You're surprised once you realize how long you slept; you've gotten a solid nine hours. That hasn't happened in months. But you're very glad that you feel rested, for a change.

Your throat is burning fiercely. You open the study door and silently creep a few feet past the staircase opposite you, to get a good visual of the hallway leading to the kitchen. You walk down the hall, feet padding along until you reach the kitchen door, which creaks slightly as it's opened but not nearly loud enough to cause a disturbance. The same dim wall lights are set along one kitchen wall, intended to serve as a night light for anyone who's in the same situation as you - awake in the night, hunting for a drink.

You grab a glass and fill it with water from the tap, then down it in a few seconds. You refill it and drain your second glass much like you did the first. Damn, that's good. You pour the glass half full, and sip it again, sitting down at the kitchen table. You think back to earlier, and your fit about Malfoy staying in your house. Maybe you shouldn't have over reacted like you did. It probably took a lot of balls for Malfoy to defy his father like he has. You've met Lucius Malfoy, so you've seen firsthand how much of a cruel and overbearing man he is. And you can't blame him because he's asking for protection from the Order. More than likely, you'd do the same thing in his situation. Now that he's officially 'switched sides', if the Death Eaters ever catch Draco Malfoy, they'll skin him alive.

Crookshanks sashays into the kitchen, breaking your train of thought. He hops onto the empty chair beside you, then onto the table, rubbing the side of his face against your bicep. You scratch him behind the ears.

"Hey little man, there's my favorite nocturnal kitty. Haven't seen you in a while, hmm? Yeah, you're a good cat, you are."

You never particularly cared for the cat until recently, but since you've been living at Grimmauld Place, you've found that you like his company in the late hours of the night, when you think so much that you can't sleep. He's become sort of like your silent companion. Even though he can't talk back to you, you feel like he understands when you talk. You swear that cat is smarter than some humans.

After rubbing against your arm again, he drops down onto the chair beside you and circles around twice, before curling up. You run your hand through his fur, sighing.

You return to your thoughts, absentmindedly petting the tabby cat beside you. You don't feel like sleeping now, even if you went to your room and lay down, it would most likely be a failed attempt anyway, so you don't try. You're not really tired, anyway. You're just lonely, depressed, and eager for sleep. Or some sort of escape. Recently, you've retreated so far into your own mind that you hardly talk to anyone. And if you do, it's sort of mechanical and forced, like you're not contributing to the conversation yourself, just answering questions when asked and trying your best not to be rude. You don't want to deal with these people. You love the ones closest to you. Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny. You know they only mean well, but you can't stand the constant badgering, the concerned looks they give when they think you aren't looking, the way Mrs. Weasley keeps trying to feed you constantly, or how they try to engage you in social activities and conversation, when all you really want is to be left alone.

...You desperately need a break.

You get up from the table, sliding in your chair behind you. Crookshanks looks up at you, curiously. You turn around; opening a few cabinets randomly before you find the one you're looking for. You pull out a bottle of Firewhiskey that's about three quarters full, grabbing your glass from the table and dumping the remaining water into the sink. You pour yourself a large portion, filling the glass, and walk out of the kitchen towards the drawing room. You take the bottle of Firewhiskey with you, just in case. You sit down on one of the drawing room couches, putting the bottle on the table in front of you, but cradling the glass in your hand as you turn long ways, stretching out and relaxing into the couch.

The room is illuminated by the large fireplace along the wall that you're facing. The fire stays lit throughout the night, even though warmth isn't an issue. It brings a certain reassuring, homey atmosphere to the room. Plus it requires no upkeep, because the fireplace stays lit 24/7.

You allow your thoughts to drift, watching the flames crackle and flicker, enjoying the heat the fire gives off. You finish your glass of Firewhiskey, then reach over to grab the bottle and pour another. Ah, but then you hesitate, and instead of re-pouring your glass, you sit the glass on the table and grab the whole bottle, deciding it would be less trouble than having to keep refilling a glass. You decide that you're going to get plastered tonight. You deserve a break from the stress of sobriety. About that time, Crookshanks swaggers into view, jumping up on the couch and curling up at your feet.

Again, you retreat into your mind, occasionally taking a swig from your bottle, thinking about your past, present, and future. Where would you be if Sirius was here? What would he think of Malfoy staying in your house? If you ever defeat Voldemort, what will you do then? You'll be lost. You don't expect to shack up with Ginny. You love her, but at the moment you aren't with her _like that_ and don't expect to be. She's more like your sister than anything, and you believe the feeling is mutual. Will this last forever? The constant feeling that you can't (and don't want to) live up to everyone's expectations of the 'Golden Boy'? You don't want this to be your life. You _won't_ let it be your life, even if it means moving to some barely known third world country. But you hope it never comes to that.

You look back to your bottle, lifting the brown glass up to the light of the fireplace, and seeing that there's only about a quarter of the bottle left. You're feeling pretty buzzed, having drank half the bottle by now. In fact, you think you're a little more than just buzzed, because you can feel your mind clouded with the alcohol, making your thoughts slower and your body clumsier. Damn, it kind of sneaks up on you sometimes, doesn't it? It's a good thing you aren't standing, you think, because you'd probably fall on your ass. But you don't care, really, and with three or four more big gulps, the bottle is gone, leaving nothing but the burn of alcohol trailing down your throat.

You're exhausted, physically and mentally. The empty bottle slides from your grasp, falling to the floor beside you as you turn onto your side. You think it's a smart thing to do, because you don't want to choke on your own vomit if you throw up in your sleep. This movement upsets Crookshanks a little, but he just readjusts himself, still curled up at your feet. One of your arms hangs off the couch, but you can't muster up the energy to care. You close your eyes and think of all the people you've lost, and of the people you will lose in your attempt to kill Voldemort.

You think to yourself that this will be the last night you can get trashed for a while, because you won't want to let your guard down with Malfoy in the house. He's not here yet, but he's scheduled to arrive here with Professor Dumbledore tomorrow evening. They decided to give you the heads up today so you would have calmed down a little by the time Malfoy arrives. Smart move, judging from that fit you had earlier.

As you drift into sleep, you think that maybe it won't be that bad, having Malfoy in the house, because maybe he won't be as much of a prick now that he's on our side.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I should've said this in the first chapter, but I was too busy figuring out how to upload a story to even think about it. But for the record, this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, ever. So if it's a little rough, or lacking in some way, don't hesitate to point it out. Because I'm definitely an inexperienced writer, but I'm working on it. (:

_Harry_

You're awoken in the morning, opening your bleary eyes to the face of Hermione Granger, who is shaking your shoulder, standing over you with a disapproving scowl on her face. Your brain kicks into gear as you begin to register what she's saying.

"Harry James Potter! You ought to be thankful that Molly isn't awake yet; she'd have your arse if she saw you like this!"

You shrug her hand off your shoulder, and sit up from the couch with a groan. You immediately slump over, cradling your head in your hands. Why is it so bright? Ugh, you hardly ever get hangovers. Why now?

'Mione continues her tirade. "There was nearly a full bottle of Firewhiskey there last night! Honestly, I don't know what has gotten into you, Harry. Getting smashed, passing out in the drawing room! Does this have anything to do with Malfoy? Because honestly Harry, you know that he's on our side now. I seriously doubt Dumbledore would put him here if he's a threat.

You look up to her, twisting your face into an apologetic expression. You know you would normally be annoyed at her, but you aren't. You don't regret last night, because you desperately needed that, but you do feel bad for disappointing her. Maybe you should've passed out in your room instead of in the middle of the living room. You meet her gaze and apologize as sincerely as you can. "Sorry 'Mione, I just needed something to pass the time for a while.", you tell her, with your best 'spanked puppy dog' look on your face. Her expression softens, and she looks at you understandingly. 'Damn, I didn't expect to get off that easily.' you think.

"I know Harry." Hermione bends over and picks up the empty bottle of Firewhiskey, then turns away from you, heading towards the kitchen. She waves you along behind her.

"Come on, I made breakfast. And there are some pain killers in the kitchen. I'm sure you'll need those after last night."

You haul your sore body off the couch with a grunt, and trail behind her towards the kitchen. Ron, as expected, is already at the table stuffing his face. You stand behind Hermione as she opens the cabinet that contains the medicines, grabs the bottle of muggle painkillers, and hands you two. You pop them into your mouth before turning on the kitchen faucet, lowering your head to drink from the tap. You turn to Hermione and thank her, and she nods briefly in your direction.

You plop down into the seat opposite of Ron, dropping your head to the table to rest on your forearms. You feel slightly sick. '_Merlin, please don't let me throw up now.'_

Ron looks up at you from behind his fork with a smug look on his face. "Morning', mate. Have a nice night?" – Hermione shoots him a warning look, and he turns his attention back to his plate, looking like a spanked puppy. She does have him whipped, doesn't she?

"The night was nice, it's the morning that kills me.", you tell him. Hermione interrupts this particular chain of conversation, offering you a plate of food. You decline, telling her that you don't think you could stomach it at the moment. Which is true, you'd probably just heave it all up anyway.

"Mione, what time is it?", you ask her. She turns toward you. "Nine thirty-seven", she answers. _'Good'_, you think, _'That means Malfoy won't arrive here for another two and a half hours.' _Maybe you'll just barricade yourself in your room for the remainder of the summer. It _is _only the beginning of July, and the start of the school term doesn't begin until late August. That's only two months. You could manage that, right? On second thought, Malfoy will probably be the one barricading himself in his room, considering where he's staying and all. If you were the only Slytherin, son of a Death Eater, in a house full of Gryffindors, you'd be hiding too!

Mrs. Weasley enters the room, breaking your train of thought. "Oh, good morning dears, I didn't expect to see you three up so early!" Molly turns to Hermione and smiles, seeing the skillet of eggs on the stove. She pulls her in for a brief hug, thanking her softly for making breakfast, before releasing her and grabbing a plate. As Molly sits down to eat, she turns to you. "Harry dear, have you eaten?" she asks. You tell her no, ma'am, that you don't feel very hungry at the moment. Mrs. Weasley casts a suspicious look towards you, but you get up from the table and grab a piece of toast, excusing yourself from the room. You claim you're going to shower, which seems to satisfy Mrs. Weasley. You know that you need one anyway, because you feel a little haggard.

You climb the stairs to your room, and grab a fresh change of clothes. You exit your room, crossing the hall to the bathroom door. You deposit your clean clothes on the counter and turn on the showerhead. Setting the temperature to the hottest setting, you strip from your nasty clothes and climb into the shower. The water is scalding hot, but you could care less. You tilt your head downward, allowing the water to run down your shoulders, soothing your tense muscles. Standing there in the shower, occasionally rotating so that water runs over your entire body, you enter into a sort of trance. The water feels so good, you never want to move. But eventually, the water gets cold, so you get out and dry off, changing into your new set of clothes.

You leave the bathroom and walk back into your room, throwing your old clothes into the dirty hamper in the corner of your room. You really don't want to go back downstairs right now, to face 'Mione and Mrs. Weasley. They're fantastic women, and you love them but you don't really feel like conversing with them at the moment. You climb onto your bed, and grab a book from your nightstand. Although you've read this book before and the story interests you just as much as the first time you read it, you can't seem to make yourself concentrate. Your mind keeps drifting away from the book, so you find yourself having to reread paragraphs. Giving up and curling onto your side in a fetal position, you decide that you'll finish the book later.

And with that thought, you let your mind wander, thinking about everything and nothing. Hypothetical situations, loved ones, the past and future. Hogwarts, your parents, and Voldemort. Eventually you get what you want and drift away from reality, entering sleep for the third time in 24 hours. What's with the sudden change in your sleep schedule?

_Draco_

You've been sitting just outside Dumbledore's office for the past fifteen minutes, waiting for him to retrieve you. You'll be side-along apparating with him, to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. You'll be staying there for the remainder of the summer, until fall term begins. Then, you'll be allowed your own quarters within Hogwarts to avoid any harassment from your fellow Slytherins. You, Severus, and Dumbledore all agree that you wouldn't be safe in a dorm full of people whose parents want you dead, now that you've switched sides.

Severus comes through the door, and looks down at you. "The Headmaster will be here soon", he drawls. "I came to see you off, Draco. If any Order meetings are held, there is a possibility that I'll see you then, but otherwise you'll not see me until the start of the term."

You give him a short nod, confirming that you understand him. "You were right to come to me, Draco", he continues. "I'm sorry you were forced to take the mark. Had I known, I would've taken measures to prevent it."

At this statement, you subconsciously pull the hem of your sleeve downwards, as if to further conceal the tattoo on your arm. This has become a nervous habit since you took the mark. You're ashamed to wear anything but long-sleeved tee shirts in public. Even on your own, you don't look at it. It is a curse that you bear upon your arm. You never wanted to take the mark.

You look up and meet Severus's gaze. "I know that. Thank you", you tell him with a half-smile. You should've come to him sooner, when Lucius first began hinting that the Dark Lord would mark you. But you didn't expect it to be so soon. You expected them to wait awhile longer, at least another year, until you were of legal age. But you didn't go to Severus sooner, and the Dark Lord didn't wait, and there's no use thinking about things you can't change.


End file.
